


if he loves you so

by susiecarter



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Alien Cultural Differences, Bad Flirting, Communication Failure, Cultural Differences, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Explanations, Kissing, M/M, Post-Episode: s04e10 Our Man Bashir, Reconciliation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 00:42:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26606926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susiecarter/pseuds/susiecarter
Summary: Garak was watching him, eyes sharp, half of a dulcet smile still lingering around his mouth. "I've never had lunch in Hong Kong before. It occurred to me that perhaps I'd better inquire as to whether I should expect to be shot at some more."Julian swallowed, and looked away. "Aren't Cardassians always expecting to be shot at?" he said, but he knew already that it wouldn't save him; he could feel his face going hot.
Relationships: Julian Bashir/Elim Garak
Comments: 46
Kudos: 250
Collections: Fandom Giftbox 2020





	if he loves you so

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shopfront](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shopfront/gifts).



> Unsurprisingly, shopfront, I couldn't resist your prompt for Julian's flashes of temper in 4.10 having an alternate explanation. ♥!
> 
> This is set immediately post-4.10 (which actually places it before Ziyal's arrival on DS9 in 4.14, but I like to think it casts her addition to lunch dates in a new light). Title from Betty Everett, "In His Kiss", because I couldn't help myself. :D

"A moment, Doctor," Garak said.

Julian paused.

He'd only made it about two steps along the corridor outside the sitting room belonging to Hippocrates Noah. The exit for the holosuite had already shimmered into place in front of him.

He experienced, for a moment, the desperate urge to pretend he hadn't heard Garak—to sprint the rest of the way and make his escape.

It was all settled, now. Lunch tomorrow. Hong Kong; Garak had enjoyed the program after all, and seemed not to mind having nearly been shot in the throat. So it was—everything was fine. There was nothing more to talk about.

"If you please," Garak added.

Julian bit down on a sigh, and turned round.

They were both still in their tuxedos. If asked, Garak would no doubt have had a great deal to say about the cut, the fit, the style. How outrageously unsubtle and unimaginative it was, to pair black and white so directly. But Julian was a doctor, not a tailor, and all he could see was Garak, in the striking clean lines of the kind of eveningwear Julian was used to. Human. The kind it was far too easy to imagine Garak might have put on just for—

God.

"Certainly. What is it?" Julian said aloud, as evenly as he could.

Garak was watching him, eyes sharp, half of a dulcet smile still lingering around his mouth. "I've never had lunch in Hong Kong before. It occurred to me that perhaps I'd better inquire as to whether I should expect to be shot at some more."

Julian swallowed, and looked away. "Aren't Cardassians always expecting to be shot at?" he said, but he knew already that it wouldn't save him; he could feel his face going hot.

"Why, of course," Garak said warmly. "But usually we're also aware in advance of who's likeliest to be doing the shooting. I must admit you rather took me by surprise today, my dear doctor."

Julian winced. "Yes, I—I suppose I'd better apologize for that."

The trouble was, he thought grimly, he didn't particularly want to. He'd said it, and he meant it: he was aware that he ought to be sorry. But that didn't mean he was.

It shouldn't have felt so _satisfying_ —not only pulling the trigger in and of itself, but the way Garak had looked at him after, the awareness that he _had_ taken Garak by surprise. That he could still catch Garak's attention after all.

It shouldn't have. But it had.

"Oh, not on my account," Garak said.

Julian blinked, and looked up.

Garak's expression was bland, amused. Not that that necessarily meant anything, with Garak; indeed, there was a certain intensity in his gaze now that belied the mildness of his face and stance.

"To Cardassians," Garak murmured, "the willingness to seize a moment of advantage is—quite compelling." He tilted his head the barest degree. "But in my experience, you aren't usually quite so direct in expressing your frustrations. You typically prefer to register your objections to my outbursts of mercenary cynicism with more restraint." He paused for a deliberate beat, and then leaned in a little and added, "To shoot to kill and miss! Daringly provocative of you, Doctor."

Julian bit down on a laugh that would have come out much too sharp anyway. _Daringly provocative_ —fantastic. He should have known. Of course letting his simmering irritation get the best of him had managed to do what a thousand invitations to lunch, given or accepted, hadn't.

He shook his head, and rubbed absently at his mouth.

There wasn't any reason not to say it. Was there? Now, when it hardly mattered; when all he'd be confessing to was having misunderstood, having fooled himself thoroughly. Garak would probably be amused, at least. Garak would probably be amused, would raise a brow ridge and say something about how fascinatingly peculiar Terran practices were, how little sense they made compared to their Cardassian equivalents. And Julian would manage to smile at him somehow or other, would agree, and they would part. Lunch tomorrow. Hong Kong.

It would be fine.

There wasn't any reason not to say it. And Julian was, abruptly, tired of failing to.

"Years," he said at last, quietly. "Years of lunch, of Cardassian novels, of your secrets and your lies, of working out how to understand you one step at a time. I thought—I thought we might finally—"

He stopped, helpless, and wished dimly for the hot anger that had boiled over in him in that tunnel, the way everything had felt clear and sharp; the way his voice had sounded, grim and certain. That had been much easier than this: than standing here in the quiet, the world already ended, with Garak watching him like this.

"You told me I was spending all my free time in here, that that was what had made you so curious about what I was doing. And the truth is that I suppose I was hoping it would. I was hoping it would frustrate you, and I was hoping it would hurt."

There went the brow ridge.

"Is that so?" Garak said, almost soft.

"Yes," Julian said. "You—running off to Tain, to that Cardassian fleet, without even explaining yourself. I had no idea what the hell might have been happening to you, and you wouldn't tell me anything even after you got back. And getting yourself beaten up by Klingons, pretending it was nothing when I was the one right there patching you up. Even before that, you were—you'd canceled on me two times out of every three, you were—" He ground to a halt, and to his own frustration his eyes had begun to sting. "You weren't _talking_ to me anymore," he heard himself say, and it sounded precisely as foolish and childish and plaintive aloud as it had in his head, but there was nothing to be done about it now. "I suppose I let my imagination get the better of me. I suppose I should have tried harder to keep a level head."

Garak had the barest furrow between his brow ridges, now. "That might have been wise, yes," he said, inflectionless, noncommittal.

"But I'd thought we were getting somewhere," Julian said, and for all that it had felt so impossible to work up to, the words themselves came out steadily enough. "You and me. I thought—well." He stopped, shook his head again. "It was stupid, obviously. It doesn't matter. The point is, I was angry with you today, but it wasn't only about today. I'd been frustrated for a while. With myself," he admitted slowly, "as much as with you, for fooling myself into thinking—"

"Into thinking what?" Garak prodded.

Julian bit at his mouth. "It doesn't matter," he said again, more firmly. "I've got my head on straight now, I promise you. Lunch tomorrow. Hong Kong. It'll be fine."

It sounded true. It would be true, if Julian just gave himself a little time. He'd get past this, this reckless selfish disappointment. They'd be friends. They were friends, or at least he was pretty sure they were. That was enough.

He was about to say it again, to do something else—clap Garak on the shoulder, perhaps, in an amiable sort of way, and then they'd leave the holosuite, and Julian could go mope somewhere quiet for a bit.

Except when he made himself look at Garak, Garak was staring at him.

"I begin to suspect, Doctor," he said slowly, "that I've committed an oversight of staggering proportions."

Julian blinked.

"Rather foolish of me," Garak added. "I'm quite mortified. I should have known better; in point of fact, I _do_ know better. But you are always so accommodating, and there are some assumptions so fundamental we can never entirely set them aside, no matter how self-aware we believe ourselves to be."

"Garak—"

"It isn't simply cultural convention," Garak said, an interruption so brisk it was impossible to pre-empt. "Among Cardassians, it's merely basic common sense, to be relatively open in expressing all but the most severe hostility, and to carefully conceal its opposite. Particularly in cases where there is any danger of genuine intensity."

Julian swallowed. Surely he couldn't mean that the way it sounded. Surely there was some other reason he was explaining this to Julian right now.

"Overt gestures of interest," Garak went on, "are only practical under limited circumstances."

"Overt gestures of interest," Julian repeated, mouth dry.

"Indeed," Garak said. "For example, insistence on a direct introduction."

_It's Doctor Bashir, isn't it? Of course it is. May I introduce myself?_

"Or an invitation to do something suggestive—say, drinks in private."

_I think it's a little noisy in here. I prefer to drink somewhere quiet._

_An excellent idea. We'll go to my quarters._

_Whatever you like—_

"Even some sort of standing arrangement, pursued publicly by both parties." Garak glanced away, deliberate, and then back at Julian, and his tone was offhanded but his eyes felt very heavy indeed.

"Lunch," Julian said unsteadily.

"Yes, I suppose that would qualify," Garak observed, very mild. "An entirely reasonable place for Cardassians to begin, in pursuit of physical pleasures—"

"Physical—" Good god.

"Oh, certainly," Garak said. "Though of course it would also be quite natural for such gestures to serve as the opening maneuvers of a much more extensive campaign."

"Would it," Julian heard himself say.

"Indeed," Garak agreed, and took a half-step closer—and then he paused, as if checked, and clasped his hands behind his back. "And the former might come to transition into the latter over time, too, which might necessitate an alteration in strategy."

Julian reached up, and tugged absently on his collar with one finger. It was awfully hot in here. "All right," he made himself say carefully. "I think I understand you so far."

"You can be so perspicacious when you choose to be, my dear," Garak murmured. "And the next step in such a campaign, naturally, would be to withdraw."

Julian frowned, unable to prevent it. "To withdraw."

"Why, of course! It would be the clearest possible indication of a—deepening level of investment. To deliberately alter circumstances so as to prevent that investment from _appearing_ exceptional in any way to the casual observer; to suggest that it has become so marked, has achieved sufficient intensity, to constitute a vulnerability worth being concealed. My dear doctor, it practically amounts to a signed confession."

Julian let his eyes fall shut, and drew a slow breath, and tried to ignore the kick of his heart in his chest.

"Humans do these things differently, of course," Garak said after a moment. "I do know that. But—"

"But," Julian said, very low.

"But," Garak elaborated, "you responded with such delightfully pointed reciprocity. Diminishing in your turn your commitment to the frequency and apparent intimacy of our standing arrangement to eat together. Choosing to spend your time in a much less public location—a location where you might be joined unobserved. Even your irritation at finding yourself interrupted! Adroitly handled. If only we hadn't then been interrupted by that unfortunate transporter malfunction." He paused. "I hadn't expected you to escalate as far as trying to kill me. That was quite invigorating. But I thought perhaps it would be best to confirm you hadn't acted in haste."

Julian couldn't help it. He scrubbed a hand across his face, and then he laughed.

"So you're telling me I just stole Cardassian third base," he said. "And you started this conversation because you wanted to make sure I didn't regret _moving too fast_."

Garak gave him a narrow-eyed look. "If I follow your charmingly opaque turns of phrase correctly," he said, "then—essentially, yes."

He hadn't moved since that half-step toward Julian; he took another, now, and unclasped his hands from behind him to reach out and set his fingertips to Julian's elbow.

"As I said: an oversight of staggering proportions. The error was all mine, my dear, and I hope perhaps in time you will forgive me."

Julian felt his mouth slant, unbidden. Perhaps the only thing more satisfying than having recaptured Garak's attention was the revelation that he'd never lost it. And Garak's eyes on him, Garak's hand on his arm—it provoked as relentless a tension as it ever had, tingling along the surface of Julian's skin; a tension he'd thought he'd been alone in feeling.

But it seemed perhaps he hadn't.

"Well, now I'm very glad I tried to shoot you," he said aloud.

"As am I, I assure you," Garak murmured.

"And I promise I'd be more than happy to bring you back here and shoot at you some more whenever you like," Julian added, and then leaned in and kissed him.

They'd wasted far too many opportunities already to let this one slip away.

And Garak seemed to agree; as gratifying as it had been to be looked at by him, touched by him, it was better still to _feel_ the breath catch in his throat, the startled parting of his mouth—to hear the soft pleased sound he made, a moment before Julian eased away.

"I shall hold you to that, my dear," Garak said warmly, and when they left the holosuite together, he still hadn't taken his hand off Julian's arm.


End file.
